


Epilogue: Where the Heart Is

by Claranon



Series: The Princess and the Knight [9]
Category: Dragon Quest Series, Dragon Quest XI
Genre: And here we are 80k words later, F/M, Forewarning I got a cavity writing this, Nobody Suffers 2019, The T rating is for Thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claranon/pseuds/Claranon
Summary: Sir Hendrik struggles with doubts and difficulties on an important day. Fortunately, his princess is there to help him see it through.





	Epilogue: Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm posting the last two parts of the series back-to-back, so make sure you read [The Road Ahead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18657046) before this one!)
> 
> This might possibly be the most saccharine thing I have ever written in my _life_ and I'm not even sure what to do with myself here.
> 
> So what I _will_ say is: thank you so, so much to everyone who read and commented and kudosed this series along the way. Your appreciation and encouragement has meant more to me than you can imagine, and I couldn't have finished this without you.

Sir Hendrik nervously adjusted the collar of his shirt for the hundredth time as he paced back and forth across the sun-dappled antechamber.

“Why could I not simply wear my armour?” he demanded of the room. “It is well within the bounds of propriety for a knight to garb himself thusly on such occasions.”

Sylvando clucked his tongue sternly as he stepped forward to smooth out the lapels of Hendrik’s jacket again. “We can’t have you clanking all the way down the aisle, honey. You’ll drown out the musicians!”

The other knight was at the greatest of ease in his own formal wear, a garish combination of colours that Hendrik could not even begin to make sense of. He finished fixing the confounded material—so delicate that a stiff breeze set it to wrinkling—and looked with some approval over his friend’s appearance.

“What do you think, gentlemen?” Sylvando asked the other two men in the room. “Isn’t he just the handsomest, dashingest bridegroom you’ve ever seen in your _life?_ ”

“He could certainly give most of them a run for their sovereigns,” Rab chuckled, brushing a stray thread off his silk robes. “But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one quite so skittish before. Even auld Irwin wasnae _this_ worried on his wedding day.”

“I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Erik interjected. He had on the apparently sole set of ornate clothing he owned, his hat bent rakishly. “ _Probably_ no one’s going to break into the treasury while the guards are all busy with the wedding, right?”

Hendrik’s ceaseless pacing stuttered to a halt while he and the others turned to stare at the thief.

“What?” Erik asked, crossing his arms. “I was trying to be reassuring.”

The agitated groom shook his head and continued on, counting his strides as he marched from one end of the room to the other. As master and commander of the armies of Heliodor and hardened veteran of battles beyond imagining, it was unthinkable that he should be _fearful_ in some way of what was, after all, the happiest day of his life. Hendrik had never before dreamed that he could classify an event involving public speaking, excessive pomp and ceremony, and the capstone of a formal ball as bringing him joy; but he nevertheless clung to the assertion with all the desperation of a man with little left to lose.

“There’s still a wee bit of time left,” Rab said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I might go join my grandson and check in on the lassies before everything gets started.”

“I’ll come along,” Erik offered.

Hendrik nodded distractedly at the men as they exited through the door, leaving only himself and Sylvando in the room.

The other knight tilted his head and looked a bit wistfully at his friend. “It’s almost hard to believe how fast this all came, darling. Ooh, I’ll never forgive you for not letting me throw you a bachelor party!”

“Consider it a gift to my bride that I will not be emptying the contents of my stomach before her at the altar,” Hendrik replied grimly, fingers scratching at his collar again.

“Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud,” Sylvando chided. “I was going to let the Princey-poo do most of the drinking, anyway.”

Before Hendrik could muster up an appropriately scathing reply, there was a tap on the door and a page ducked his head in to request Sylvando’s assistance with a seating mix-up.

“I’d better go take care of this, Hendrik dear,” the knight apologized. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

Hendrik again nodded inattentively, unable to focus his thoughts on any ceremonial mishaps amidst his own scattered concerns. Before Sylvando left the room, though, he turned with a sly grin.

“And don’t even _think_ about running away, honey,” he warned. “You just _know_ she’s hiding a pair of claws somewhere, and she’d make you regret it for sure!”

He laughed at his friend’s answering scowl, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Now alone for the first time in hours, Hendrik returned to the questionable solace of his determined pacing. Soon, however, the steady sound of the ticking clock in the quiet room began to drive him somewhat mad. For one, wild moment he paused before it and considered its possible age and heirloom status, trying to determine the likelihood of the king’s taking offense at its careful destruction; then he jerked back in horror as he realized himself and deliberately walked over to the window instead, his hands clenched into tight fists.

It was early spring in Heliodor and the trees on the castle grounds were budded over with the promise of verdure to come. A gentle wind rustled through the air and nudged fluffy white clouds across the sky. Hendrik stared out at the sun-filled gardens unseeingly, jaw shifting with restless tension.

There was a knock at the antechamber door.

“Enter,” Hendrik said as he turned his head slightly, expecting some page or servant inquiring after one of his companions.

The door opened and in walked the Princess of Heliodor, bedecked in her wedding gown.

Time stopped for one eternal moment as Hendrik’s stunned gaze took in the sight of his bride before him: the elaborately coiffed hair with sparkling tiara and accompanying veil draped down the back; the flashes of brilliant jewels at her ears and throat; the bewildering arrangement of silks and satins and beads and lace that made up her voluminous dress. She was positively _resplendent_ , and she arched one perfect brow as he gaped at her, her lips curved into a mysterious little smile.

Hendrik’s poor, frazzled mind was nearly overcome by the colossal efforts required for such basic necessities as filling his lungs with air and pumping the blood through his veins. But rally it eventually did, and he wheeled at once to face the back wall of the room, a choked gasp escaping him.

“Jade!” he said in a strangled voice. “You are...you are garbed in your wedding attire!”

He heard the sound of her heeled footsteps on the floor as she approached. “I know, Hendrik,” she said from behind him, sounding amused. “I just spent the past _three hours_ getting sewn into it. Serena’s actually a wonder with a needle—I don’t know how we would have done it without her.”

Hendrik was not to be thus diverted.

“But, custom—” he floundered helplessly. “Custom would dictate that we do not see each other before the ceremony. This is most irregular!”

“Oh, are we observing _custom_ now?” she asked archly. “In that case, isn’t it _also_ customary to save certain courtesies for the honeymoon, Sir Hendrik? I don’t recall hearing any objections when we moved our last sparring match from the training room to your bedchambers. In fact, I believe it was _you_ who first pressed _me_ up against the wall right before you tore off my—”

His face felt so entirely aflame that it could likely double as a serviceable field beacon. “I would beg you not to remind me of such matters less than an _hour_ before we are to be married, Jade!”

She chuckled, a low and throaty sound. Then after a slight pause, he heard the rustle of satin as she moved closer, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” Jade said, voice muffled slightly by his jacket. “I just...wanted to see you again for a few minutes, before all the pageantry starts.”

Hendrik felt his protests wash away in the face of her quiet appeal. He brought his hands up to cover her own, linking their fingers together; then, unable to resist, he pulled one to his lips to brush a gentle kiss to her knuckles, and she made a contented hum against his back.

The urge to look at her again, to bask in her breathtaking magnificence, became too much. He turned, and her arms dropped away as she stepped back to make room for him.

“You are a vision, Princess,” he said hoarsely, heart in his throat. He did not know how he would possibly be able to tear his eyes away from her, for the remainder of that day _or_ any of the others to come.

Warmth danced in her gaze as she reached out to adjust his ever-wrinkling lapel. “I could say the same to you, Sir Knight. This suit becomes you wonderfully. Only a cravat could complete the picture, I think.”

Her lips quirked upward again at his long-suffering sigh; the next moment, however, she turned more serious.

“Are you sure you won’t accept a new title?” Jade asked him. “My father’s still quite disappointed—you know he loves these little ceremonies. You wouldn’t _have_ to become a prince.”

Hendrik shook his head, his fingers lifting up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. That slight imperfection of her carefully contrived appearance served only to further emphasize her exquisiteness.

“It has ever been the greatest pride of my life to call myself sworn knight of the Royal House of Heliodor,” he declared. After a moment’s pause, he added, in a softer tone: ”Second only, after today, to the honour of being named your husband.”

Her breath went in sharply at that, and he was astonished to see her eyes fill with sudden tears. He had just an instant of warning before her arms were around his neck and her mouth upon his.

“Jade—” he tried to get out in between the flurry of light kisses she peppered to his lips. “Jade, we must be careful to—I would not have us ruin your— _please_ , Jade—”

“Spoilsport,” she muttered as she reluctantly pulled back, an irresistibly appealing pout on her face. Her half-lidded eyes roved over his and a small breath escaped her. “I suppose I _should_ go back and finish getting dressed. There doesn’t appear to be any end to the amount of beading and lace they can stuff onto me.”

He keenly felt the loss of her warm touch as she dropped down from her tiptoes and her arms slipped from his shoulders. One hand paused, though, and a finger teasingly started to trace its way down his chest.

“Unless...you’d like to spend a bit of time _flouting custom_ first?” Jade asked in a low voice that immediately set his pulse to galloping in a now-familiar rhythm.

With a strangled noise, Hendrik grabbed her hand desperately before it could arrive at its destination; her answering laughter filled the room and his heart both.

Before she left, she again pushed up on her heeled shoes to give him a slow, lingering kiss. He returned it breathlessly, their mouths moving together in gentle passion.

“Last chance to run away together and skip all this nonsense,” she murmured against his lips.

Hendrik smiled, his thumb stroking across her cheek. “You need only say the word, Your Highness, and I will be with you.”

Her gaze softened. “I love you,” Jade told him, her violet eyes clear and steady as they looked into his. She did not say it often, preferring to prove the depth of her affection through actions rather than words; each time was a gift he cherished, above all others in his life.

“And I love you,” he replied, voice cracking slightly. “Attend to your preparations, and we shall meet again soon.”

When she was gone, Sir Hendrik turned back to the window with renewed sensibility as he took in the beauty of the landscape before him. The day might yet contain trials and vexations beyond counting; but surely, with the grace of his princess beside him, he would be the happiest man within it.

 

* * *

 

And so, Sir Hendrik and Princess Jade of Heliodor were married, with their friends and family—and several hundred guests—in attendance. Bells pealed joyfully throughout the city and the streets thronged with people and confetti alike.

At the castle, the celebrations got underway immediately after the ceremony, and were so filled with laughter and love and cheer that none could be disquieted. Jade’s expertly-thrown bouquet landed exactly where it was most deserved, and its recipient endured all the subsequent teasing with sheepish aplomb.

Much later, in a stolen moment of peace amidst the revelry, the newlyweds lingered on a quiet balcony with hands clasped sure and strong. The hopeful breath of spring whispered to them where they stood, and the starry sky glittered with all the promise for the future as they gazed toward it, together; the princess and the knight.


End file.
